Even if it hurts. Even if it breaks me to my dark and broken soul.
“Alright. Do what you gotta do. Just know that I love you,” I whisper.
“And I love you.”
Time to make a phone call.
“Seriously?Like you didn’t see us walking here.” Betsy darts toward oncoming traffic.
I grip her arm, tugging her toward me and away from the warpath of a bright yellow taxi. “Planning your funeral is not in my plans for today, babe. Calm it down,” I tell her, steering us toward the double doors of Fleur.
“You’d think people in this city would know how to drive. But no. They’re the worst they come. I almost became roadkill.”
I tap her shoulder for reassurance. “Well, the positive is that you aren’t, and now we get to go shopping to make ourselves feel better, okay?”
“Shopping,” she repeats. “Yes. Lord, I could use some retail therapy. Especially after that god-awful second datelast night. I knew leaving work early was a mistake. Guarantee I could have sold two houses by the time that dreadful dinner was over.”
“So, I take it you won’t be seeing Baker a third time?”
“Absolutely not. The man tried to tell me that once women get married and have children, they should give up their jobs and serve their families. Fuck that, Cove. My respect for him went right out the window.”
I chuckle. “Hell hath no fury like a real estate agent scorned.”
She sends me a look of revulsion. “I should have just left right then and there. But Ihadto argue with him. The opportunity basically fell into my lap.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” I contribute.
“Everything just went downhill from there. He even had the audacity to invite me to his place afterward. Not like I gave him any signs that I was remotely interested or hinting at that kind of night. Now, I’m swearing off men indefinitely. You better hold me to it.” She points her finger at me.
The moment we cross the threshold of Fleur, Kimber’s voice pierces the room as she runs toward us with arms stacked full of evening gowns. “We’ve gotta stop meeting like this,” Kimber teases, kissing our cheeks and leading us to the center of the boutique. “You girls always travel in twos.”
“Almost didn’t make it inside,” I joke, laughing at Betsy’s dramatic grunt.
“Perks of living together,” Betsy tells Kimber before grabbing a glass of champagne from the complimentary bar. Fleur Boutique is located on the ritzier side of town, catering to clients with no less than six zeros sitting in their bank account on the regular.
This is where Betsy being our best friend has its built-inperks once again. She’s wealthy and proudly lives like it. But I appreciate that about her because not only does her bank account fit the unspoken criteria of shopping at Fleur, but she earned every penny herself. Through blood, sweat, and cheers, as she always says.
I can get by, but certainly not like Betsy can.
However, she doesn’t need to tug my arm to get me out of the house and away from work for some harmless shopping. After all, I’m in need of an evening gown for the annual Darling Hotels Masquerade Ball at the end of the year. I did my due diligence prior and browsed some thrift shops, something I can say wasn’t new for me. But Mr. Darling, Betsy’s father, heard this, and suddenly I have a minimum credit of five thousand dollars for an outfit at Fleur.
Although I have nothing but respect for Betsy and her family, it makes me a bit sick to my stomach thinking about how far five thousand dollars could go for someone who actually needs it.
Like my mom, for example.
The Darling family hosts parties for Miami’s overly privileged upper-class and elite businessmen and women of our decade. In this case, the ball will be celebrating the grand opening of Darling Hotels. I have absolutely zero in common with any of these people, along with any care, given my job and the number of hours I spend serving their affluent kind.
It’s a power trip they revel in. I hate it.
During the short time in my life when I wanted to know everything about my father, I learned quickly and without much digging that he is beyond wealthy. Surpassing a wealth even Betsy could comprehend.
And the fact that my mom is struggling to make ends meet just makes me hate him even more. That’s why Ivowed to myself I would do anything I could to support her and prove to him we’ve been fine without his filthy fucking money in our lives.
A vow I’m starting to regret making, despite how I feel about him.
“I’ll have Veronica set us up some fitting rooms!” Kimber jumps in excitement. “Cove, try on the red ones first. That color with your skin tone and hair.” She brings her fingers to her lips. “Chef’s kiss.”
I smile softly and agree, watching as Kimber scurries off, leaving me and Betsy to sip champagne while we wait for Veronica to assign us a fitting room.
